knaivcs

[knaivcs]

Hey guys, I finally got hired and will be starting next week, so I am going to try and come back now that I can stop being so gd depressed about not having a job :D

[knaivcs]

Sorry guys, but I am in whole-ass major depression cycle, so I'm going on hiatus.

[knaivcs]

Literal 'work station', all my chef knives and my manga supplies are here (not pictured: my giant ass drafting board with built in rulers and my craft bag full of like 5 different types of ink, nibs, brushes, etc. )

[knaivcs]

Every time I see that Wolfwood praying gif I just keep thinking of the "Baha be thy Blast" meme, I will pay Wolfwood's dub voice actor to say it in front of a camera.

I'm frustrated by family shit. I wanna write, but I only have muse for like one character right now because my brain is stupid. *screams into a pillow*

[knaivcs]

I'm frustrated by family shit. I wanna write, but I only have muse for like one character right now because my brain is stupid. *screams into a pillow*

[knaivcs]

I need to rewatch Tristamp because I was too busy screaming AND crying over voice chat with Tricky during my first experience with season 1, but Crunchyroll is not letting me log in, nor is it sending me a new email to change my password...

[knaivcs]

Man, props to Tristamp for not pointlessly overly sexualizing the female characters to turn them into props like some adaptations like to demote their girls to, and instead harnessing all that potential energy and putting it into objectifying Knive’s ass and tits instead

[knaivcs]

send me a topic to write a meta about my muse on

I might write anything from a paragraph to a whopping essay, but send me something you’ve noticed about my characterisation or just something you want to know about my muse and I will write what I can!

[knaivcs]

"You can break the cycle of violence-" what if i don't want to, you ever think about that

[knaivcs]

[ bronze ]  if you were stranded on a deserted island, which three things would you want to have with you?

Knife, lighter or matches, and some kind of netting material (for catching fish and birds).

Not like it'd matter since I'd be off my meds and going psycho, but it's nice to imagine.

[knaivcs]

🐝  *  ―  𝑪𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑭𝑼𝑳 𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑾. ( send one or more of these to get to know the person behind the blog a little better. )

[ cherry ]  what is one thing you love about yourself? [ crimson ]  what is one thing you wish you could change about yourself? [ scarlet ]  what is one thing you wish you could do? [ ruby ]  give one random fun fact about yourself. [ tangerine ]  do you speak other languages? if yes, which? [ amber ]  which is your favorite season? why? [ bronze ]  if you were stranded on a deserted island, which three things would you want to have with you? [ apricot ]  what do you think your life will be like in ten years? [ canary ]  do you have pets? if yes, how many and what? [ lemon ]  do you believe in ghosts? how about aliens? [ bumblebee ]  where have you always wanted to travel to? [ blonde ]  what is your favorite type of music? favorite artist? favorite song? [ lime ]  describe yourself as a character / mix of characters you've always related to the most. [ emerald ]  bonus round: coffee or tea? morning or night? extroverted or introverted? hot or cold? fruits or vegetables? sweet or salty?

[ mint ]  when did you start your blog? what made you start it? [ olive ]  what gives you the most inspiration for your muse(s)? [ cerulean ]  what is your favorite ( type of ) character to write? [ teal ]  which fandom has been your favorite to be a part of? which has been the least favorite? [ azure ]  is there a specific character or type of character you want to write but never have? why? [ navy ]  what do your muse(s) mean to you? [ indigo ]  when did you first start writing / roleplaying? [ denim ]  have you ever roleplayed on any other site(s) besides tumblr? [ mauve ]  give one random headcanon about your muse / one of your muses. [ lavender ]  if you could change one thing about the rpc as a whole, what would it be? [ plum ]  are you more of a dialogue or a description writer? [ mulberry ]  what tips would you give someone with writer's block? [ coral ]  give a shoutout to one of your favorite blogs. [ fuchsia ]  bonus round: angst or fluff? one-liners or paras? plotting or winging it? memes or starter calls? single muse or multimuse?

[knaivcs]

"He's my twin, it should be easy to recognize him. More golden than platinum blonde hair, deeper hue to his eye color as well. Missing his left arm. He doesn't simply pretend to be human, much like your kind he still needs hydration and food to survive," he counts off the details on his fingers, then starts to toy around with gun spinning. He'd managed to make a small plastic revolver when he was a child to try and imitate the lonesome strangers wandering from settlement to settlement, always quick on the draw and dead-eyed.

"He thinks humans will understand and accept him... And I have nothing but the highest hopes that your species will prove him wrong. Time after time, after time and again. In fact, I'm confident in this."

The artificial light pouring into the room from the doorway is blocked by the figure of what appears to be a young girl with an asymmetrical bob, the pallid tone of her hair eerily similar to Knives' own. The independent makes a pleased noise of acknowledgment, gesturing for her to enter.

"Ah, wonderful timing. There's someone that I've just been dying for you meet-" he continues, kneeling to scoop the child into his waiting arms.

"Elendira, this is Nicholas."

Elendira glances over Wolfwood like one might a piece of roadkill festering on the asphalt, her little upturned nose held high and haughty. Dainty fingers twirl at the loose waterfall of curls spilling down Knives' shoulders, her lips pursing tight with unvoiced distaste.

"Now now, dear, don't hide. He won't be able to see how pretty you are," he chides softly, using his index and middle fingers to push her bangs behind the shell of her ear.

Knives glances at Wolfwood from the corner of his right eye, another suspicious looking smile twisting his features into something visibly pleasant yet vaguely menacing.

The girl presses closer to Knives even as she finally faces the shabby looking priest head on, her eyes narrowing just slightly. One mirrors the frosted sapphire of her apparent guardian while the other is a more than familiar rich, deep brown.

The blonde continues to smile in silence, though he does briefly chastise his 'daughter' with a disapproving noise when she sticks her tongue out at Wolfwood and buries her face against his shoulder.

"They're so rebellious at this age, I fear..."

As compatible as he is with the serum, as trained and honed and hardened as he has been in the Citadel's Crucible and the blistering suns, and despite all of Conrad's extensive procedures, Wolfwood is still human, or close enough to it that it hardly matters. He still thirsts, still eats, still breathes, still bleeds.

Still feels pain. Even if, given focus, he can work around it. Work through it. Twist it.

The bones of his wrist creak under Knives's grasp, even with the desperate internal fight to prevent his tendons from locking and worsening the green-stick fractures that are altogether just as painful to heal as they are to receive.

Training kicks in over the cascading rush of adrenaline. He submits to the dip, more flexible than a man of his bulk ought to be, clunky and clumsy in comparison to preternatural grace.

"If I went to battle with someone's herd of cattle, you'd have steak when the job was done," he lilts, leaning into crisp pronunciation and a deeper twang than he naturally possesses. "But if shot the herder, they'd lock me up for murder, 'cause you can't shoot a male in the tail like a quail--" Lost Tech-augmented firearms, rifled bores, produce prodigious heat. It's even starker, hotter, compared to the chill of the room, but even with a rasp entering his voice between pressure and sizzle, he finishes the verse, free hand overturned with a flourish, "--Oh you can't get a man with a gun."

Dead. He's dead for his defiance, even if something waggish and irreverent bares its fanged teeth in a madling grin. Better to smile and bear it through the hate and rage and shame. He has so much to live for. Count the reasons for survival and they all have names, even if his own days are numbered.

Knives's gaze may as well be barbs wrapped around his heart, and this contact is considered the highest of blessings in these halls.

It is all he can do not to stumble when set back to his feet, and he refrains from rubbing his wrist - not that he has complete motor control regardless - instead flexing his fingers in a kinesthetic check.

Not dead yet.

An odd reward for failing to shed the erstwhile demiurge's blood. He looks past the finger to the radiant face, skin prickled cold-hot-cold as he tips a nod.

It isn't even the illusion of choice.

"In nomine Domini."

Training. Rote. Understood. He cannot afford to be too flippant with the layers of the Eye here, lest he be flensed apart. Curiosity glints in dark eyes behind the skew of dark glasses.

"Anything more specific will help to pick up the scent. Better to get it from the one who knows him best."

Priest William or Chapel generally have the specifics, but this seems... different. Echo of an echo.

[knaivcs]

"How dare you mention Annie Oakley without being aware of the musical inspired by her, tsk tsk, Nicholas-" he sighs in a disappointed fashion, his childhood fascination with Westerns being something he had yet to discard.

Knives grips Wolfwood's wrist hard enough to hurt, though his expression isn't that of anger- If anything, it's probably more disturbing that he seems pleased. An arm slides around the human's waist as he dips the other male, an intimate gesture given sinister purpose as he twists Nicholas' arm until the barrel of the gun kisses the underside of his chin, glossy facial hair losing it's sheen as the heat from the discharged bullet curls and singes each strand.

"You are useful to me, now that you've given me reason to admire your skills. Cowardly, but effective once given a direction and a task, you came across as more blunt instrument than a proper tool one could implement various uses for- With the right finesse. You came all this way, slipped past my barbed defenses enough to attempt a coup of sorts... I'm impressed."

He smiles and it's all straight, evenly spaced ivory teeth but the mirth doesn't quite reach the eyes- they remain layered, frosted over pools of pale blue and if a stare could harm, it'd be skewering Wolfwood straight through.

"So impressed that I am going to entrust you with that which is very, very dear to me-" he continued, righting them both and wresting the gun away to turn it over in his hands, letting the shine of metal catch the light.

"My dearest younger sibling is, no doubt, currently hiding himself amongst your kind. You're going to sniff him out," he explains, flicking his finger against the tip of Nicholas' hawkish nose.

"Take care of him, gain his trust enough to lead him back to me: An escort mission, if you will. Do this for me."

As if Wolfwood had any ground to stand on to refuse. The futures of all those rosy-cheeked little orphans in Hopeland depended on their faithful 'big brother', even if his hands were far too sullied to hold them without spreading his filth.

It wouldn't be the first time Nicholas murdered a man in his bed.

But how do you kill that which is not alive?

(How can he return to that not-life, that half-life, when he has seen, when he has been Perceived?)

The path to this point is a hazy scrabble-scratch, wild and wandering, something cold and irresistible in his blood and in his bones dragging him forward--something hard and sharp and ready to strike, to ring like steel.

But mired. Mired in something gelid.

Trigger finger swift. Not swift enough. (You can choose a different way, whispers the angel on his shoulder.) He strikes. He strikes something. The bark of the firearm echoes, echoes, ringing lost in the bellows hiss of vapor.

It's cold here. Cold in this place. Cold, cold. Conrad's blessings were always cold. Ice water in his veins. Cold metal, cold scalpels, liquid nitrogen cold blazing hallowed profanity on naked skin, the litany on his tongue. The heat of his breath curls like smoke from around bared teeth.

And Knives is there. Looming and towering even if they stand eye to eye, a presence like a smothering pall.

Terrible and beautiful. He's there, so like his twin, and yet uncannily not - more a figure carved of marble and diamond than a being of flesh and blood, demanding a different sort of love, a different sort of peace.

Knives is there, and the chains of conditioning command that Nicholas kneel. Prostrate. Bow. Avert his gaze, gouge out his eyes, because how dare. How dare he look on the immaculate--

(That isn't his voice. That isn't His voice either. Are there golden eyes looking on, seething with jealous fury, stayed only by proximity to this Angel of God?)

"...regular Annie Oakley," he rasps, finding his voice dragged guttural through the chill aching in his bones. He remains standing for now, somehow. Maybe thanks to the talisman holstered at the small of his back. An object recovered from a crater of glittering glass.

Maybe it is just Knives's whim. A few extra heartbeats. A few extra seconds for electrical flashfire and chemical to crash together between instinct and reason.

"Not like you to insult yourself."

You aren't a man, after all.

The psychic resonance is overwhelming. He can feel it in the hollows of his lungs, the gaps between his ribs, in his sinuses, between his ears. Finger off the trigger, he cannot seem to drop his gun arm and cannot wrench his eyes away. Transfixed.

Ensnared.

Trapped.

He never did well in cages despite how many months, years, he spent in them. He just learned to bide his time. Not that he has a choice in the matter here, now. If he is to survive.

"Did you keep me around for my charm? Here I thought I'm useful."

[knaivcs]

Grind >>

There's barely any rationalizing. No talking. Just falling into each other as though possessed by something greater than the scope of themselves, both feverish and desperate.

How long has it been since Vash abandoned him? How long has it been since Knives had willingly hurt his other half, even if it had been to protect him from not being able to control his powers- These questions pull at him agonizingly, like Vash's fingers card through and stroke his hair, try to feel out a seam or hem in Knives' gate suit. He doesn't will it away just yet, content to slide his hands beneath the other male's shirt, fingers climbing each notch of his heaving ribs and flexing spine. He's nosing at the join between his partner's neck and shoulder, taking in Vash's scent like he wants to memorize the complex notes of musk and aromatic mix of floral and something sharp like citrus rind.

"Vash," he utters, reverent and breathy, pressing openmouthed kisses against bare flesh and the sloping curve of his neck. His arms wind around the other blonde like he belongs there, that home is wherever and whatever they manage to make together. He can feel the other independent's erection pressing into his thigh and arches into the hardness, letting Vash grind against him as much as he needs, as much as he wants to until he needs more.

Both hands gently cradle the angles of his jaw as they slant their lips together, lunging closer, until there's barely any untouched space between them. They press their foreheads together like they used to when they were children, sharing whispered secrets while practically nose to nose, icy blue staring back into pale green. Vash licks into the roof of his mouth, along the line of where gum meets teeth, sucking at Knives' tongue with a muffled groan.

Knives' body seems to know what it wants before he can place words to describe it, the thin fabric of his clothing fading into warm, bare flesh begging to be touched. They move in tandem, finding a rhythm together that works for both of their needs- Vash thrusting against the narrow bulk of his hip while Knives rides the thigh positioned between his legs, smearing slick against the rough fabric of his utility slacks.

"Off, take these off-" he urges, fingers blindly unfastening Vash's belt and pushing his last few barriers of clothing aside to lightly drag his palm along the underside of his partner's cock, organic patterns spreading across sun-kissed skin and gleaming in the dark.

[knaivcs]

I think we as a species should bring back hissing, like a dude catcalls you, just fucking hiss and spit at him like a cobra. Act like that poison spitting dinosaur from Jurassic Park. Act like a Xenomorph from ALIEN.

[knaivcs]

*      ―    ﴾  𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚠  𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚜  ﴿   :    𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒  𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘  𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

personally ,   i’m  tired  of  the  secondhand  embarrassment.   so  here’s  a  random  assortment  of  nsfw  actions  and  dialogue  prompts  that  don’t  feel  too  over  the  top.   (  don’t  forget  to  add  [ reverse ]  if  you’d  like  to  see  the  receiver  perform  the  action.  )

actions.

[ PULL ]:  sender  pulls  receivers  hair.

[ HICKEY ]:  sender  gives  receiver  a  hickey.

[ TRAIL ]:  sender  leaves  a  trail  of  kisses  down  receivers  stomach.

[ HIPS ]:  sender  pulls  receiver  in  closer  by  the  hips.

[ KNEES ]:  sender  lowers  themselves  to  their  knees.

[ STRIPTEASE ]:  sender  teasingly  strips  their  clothes.

[ STRIP ]:  sender  undresses  receiver.

[ GRIND ]:  sender  grinds  on  receivers  thigh.

[ ORAL ]:  sender  goes  down  on  receiver.

[ PASSENGER ]:  sender  touches  receiver  while  sender  is  driving.

[ DRIVER ]:  sender  goes  down  on  /  touches  receiver  while  receiver  is  driving.

[ OVERSTIMULATED ]:  sender  repeatedly  making  receiver  orgasm.

[ PUBLIC ]:  sender  and  receiver  have  sex  somewhere  public.

[ CAR ]:  sender  and  receiver  have  sex  in  a  car.

[ CONTROL ]:  sender  is  riding  receiver  and  receiver  takes  control  by  guiding  their  hips.

[ SHY ]:  sender  covers  their  face  and  receiver  moves  their  hands  away.

[ EYES ]:  sender  makes  receiver  look  them  in  the  eyes.

[ BEG ]:  sender  begs  receiver  to  touch  /  fuck  them.

[ MORNING ]:  sender  wakes  receiver  up  with  sex.

[ STRADDLE ]:  sender  sits  in  receivers  lap  to  tease  them.

[ CAMERA ]:  sender  records  receiver.

[ RECORD ]:  sender  is  recorded  by  receiver.

[ MOUTH ]:  sender  puts  their  fingers  into  receivers  mouth.

[ LOVE ]:  sender  tells  receiver  they  love  them  during.

[ PUSH ]:  sender  pushes  receiver  onto  bed.

dialogue.

“ you  look  so  pretty  like  this.  “

“ i  want  to  spend  all  night  learning  every  sound  you  make. “

“ let  me  take  care  of  you. “

“ i’m  not  wearing  any  underwear  right  now. “

“ you’re  really  good  at  that. “

“ god,  you’re  so  wet  /  hard  …. “

“ i  think  about  you  when  i  touch  myself. “

“ tell  me  what  you  want. “

“ please  touch  /  fuck  me. “

“ i  love  teasing  you. “

“ touch  yourself  for  me. “

“ i  get  so  wet  /  hard  around  you. “

“ get  on  your  knees. “

“ you’re  such  a  tease. “

“ tell  me  you’re  mine. “

“ i’m  yours. “

“ i  want  you  to  cum  for  me. “

“ i  want  you  to  cum  in  me. “

“ i’ll  be  good,  i  promise. “

“ you’re  doing  so  good  for  me. “

“ you  feel  so  good. “

“ you  sound  so  pretty  when  you  moan. “

“ i  could  be  your  toy. “

“ fuck  me  like  you  love  me. “

“ i’m  gonna  cum- “

“ i  just  want  to  feel  something. “

“ i  wanna  be  on  top  this  time. “

[knaivcs]

WHAT TYPE OF SYMPHONY ARE YOU?

The Nocturne: The Rise There is a darkness which has tormented you, and the genius lament burdens you, but fear not... you are the pull of the tide and the light of the moon on a winter path. You are the soft notes which increase in intensity till the pianist pours over the keys with such passion it can only bring tears to your eyes. You cannot do things halfway though you yearn for it, and you envy those blessed with blissful ignorance, but in the end you know you'd not have it any other way -- you are the rise they are afraid of till they cannot look away. Your song: Nocturne in C Minor by Chopin